Luxury
by Silverlight
Summary: [Kenyako]Love was a luxury that neither Ichijouji Ken nor Inoue Miyako could afford. However, when fate steps in, they are given a chance to grasp what they never could have...
1. Puppet

Luxury

                        _Love is a luxury I can't afford,_

_                                    Need and want take priority,_

_                        Everything else takes third and distant place._

_                                    I see blank and grey faces everyday,_

_                        Cold and drab in this misty world._

_                                    You're a bit of brightness in this dull hell._

_                        The door slams in my face._

_                                    "Open the goddamned door!"_

_                        You ignore me._

_                                    Falling, falling,_

_                        How much I have fallen._

_                                    Running, running,_

_                        How much farther?_

_                                    I don't know who I am anymore._

_                        I only see a ghost in the mirror._

_                                    Sex and lust fills my veins,_

_                        Take me, ravage me, fuck me,_

_                                    Use me all you want._

_                        You take a part of me every time,_

_                                    Give me back my innocence._

_                        Fuck you._

_                                    Give me back my sanity,_

_                        Let me take you._

_                                    Desire, cravings, slake my thirst,_

_                        I need you, want all of you._

_                                    Love is a luxury,_

_                        That not even you can afford._

Part I: Puppet

            Ichijouji Ken stared at the file, unable to believe his eyes.  He blinked once, twice, but the photograph didn't change.  Her hair was shorter, the glasses were missing, but it was _her._

            "I found her," he breathed.  "I finally found her.  Wait until everyone at home hears about this!" he crowed exultantly.

            He glanced at the digital clock gleaming on his desk.  It read, eleven thirty-eight pm.  There would be enough time tomorrow, he decided.  After all, he was in Tokyo and the other digidestined were in Odaiba.  There'd be time enough.  There always was.

            Unable to contain his excitement, however, he picked up the phone and called back his house.  After a few rings, his digimon picked up.

            "Hello?  Wormmon?" he asked.  

            "Hello Ken-chan.  Why are you still at the office so late?" his partner asked, yawning sleepily.

            "I found her."

            Wormmon was instantly awake.  "We finally found Miyako-san?" he asked joyously.

            "She's here in Tokyo.  She's using a false name.  I have her address, phone number, office number…Wormmon, _we found her!_" Ken rejoiced.  "The others will be so happy!  I can't wait to tell them!"

            Wormmon paused for a moment and Ken was immediately brought back to earth.  When his partner grew quiet, Ken knew that he was mulling over something important.

            "Are you sure you should tell the others?" Wormmon finally asked.  "I mean, she might not want them to know."

            "Why wouldn't she?" queried Ken, sounding incredulous.

            "She probably had her reasons for running away, Ken.  After all, after the incident…" and here Wormmon's voice trailed off.

            "Wormmon, that was nearly nine years ago," Ken pointed out patiently.  

            "Nine years may sound like a long time but it's not.  Besides, you know how she is.  She's stubborn.  She probably still hasn't come to terms with it," explained Wormmon in a calm voice.

            Ken mulled over this information in silence for a few moments.  "You're probably right," he finally said reluctantly.  "But it's just that after years of searching, you don't really know what to think when you've finally found what you've been looking for."

            "Just come back home, Ken-chan, and get some sleep," yawned Wormmon.  "We'll talk about it tomorrow.  I'll wait up for you," and without further ado, the insect digimon hung up the telephone.

            Without skipping a beat, Ken grabbed his jacket and keys, locked his office and went home.  There was always tomorrow, he told himself repeatedly.__

_                                    I'll dance to your music,_

_                        Tuneless in its emotion._

_                                    I'm like a wooden puppet_

_                        Whose strings are controlled by your hands._

_                                    Your hands, slender and pale_

_                        Move carelessly in the air._

_                                    My feet prance_

_                        They dance_

_                                    They flutter._

_                        I can't stop them,_

_                                    I hate what they do._

_                        I hate you._

_                                    I need to run from you._

_                        You're a monster,_

_                                    You're a freak,_

_                        You make me want to scream,_

_                                    You make me ill._

_                        Excuses, excuses,_

_                                    Leave me alone,_

_                        To die silently,_

_                                    To die slowly._

_                        Leave me in madness,_

_                                    Leave me in sorrow,_

_                        Give me that luxury,_

_                                    To cry alone._

            Miyako woke up blearily, raising an arm instinctively to cover her eyes from the bright sun streaming into her room.  The phone was ringing, and it sounded like it had been for a while.

            "Who the bloody hell is calling so early in the morning?" she muttered to herself as she sat up and reached for the telephone.  Picking up the receiver neatly, she cleared her throat experimentally before greeting her caller.

            "Hello?" she said politely, aware of the annoyed undercurrent in her tone.  There was no answer.  "Hello?" she asked again.  There was still no answer, and she slammed down the phone, thoroughly aggravated.  "Damned telemarketers," she mumbled under her breath before heaving out of bed.

            Taking a quick shower, she changed and styled her hair loosely.  She checked her cell phone, just in case, but there were no missed calls.  Putting the whole incident out of her mind, she left her apartment for work.  

            Pulling into the parking lot and parking the car with practice ease, Miyako headed straight for the elevator and her office on the thirty-sixth floor.  

            "Kimiko-san, do I have any messages?" she queried her secretary.  Kimiko shook her head.

            "No, Stewart-san."  

            "All right, thanks," Miyako said before sailing into her office with a lighter step.

            But no calls came in, and on her lunch break, she left her office to grab a quick bite to eat from the cafeteria down below.

            "So this is where you eat," someone said behind her after she had ordered.

            Miyako jumped and spun on her heel.  She felt herself turn pale at the sight of Ichijouji Ken, ex-Kaizer extraordinaire, and a fully beautiful specimen.  "Excuse me, do I know you?" she managed to strangle out.

            "It's nice to see you again too, Miyako-san.  Or should I call you Keiko-san, since that seems to be the name that everyone knows you by?" answered Ken calmly.

            "Fuck off," she said uncharitably, snatching her order.  She walked away, but he followed her into the street.

            "You can't just leave Miyako-san.  I'll still find you; everyone at home misses you," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side.

            "They can go screw themselves.  I'm not going back," she snappishly replied.

            "They don't know yet," admitted Ken.  

            "Good.  Then don't tell them.  Goodbye Ichijouji-san."  It was nice getting slapped with the past, but that's all right, you never seemed to care anyways, she added mentally, getting ready to turn away from him again.

            "Why so formal, Miyako-san?" queried Ken, ignoring the obvious dismissal.  His grip on her arm tightened.

            "I hardly think that it'd be appropriate for an adult to address someone that they had just met so informally."  Just leave, she thought at him wearily.  Leave and take my past with you.

            "Come home, just once," pleaded Ken.

            She gave him a hard look.  "Look, I can't talk about it now.  Why don't we have dinner at my place?  I'm sure you have the address.  If not, then look it up yourself."  She smiled saucily.  "I think you'll like what I have in store.  I'll see you at eight tonight."

            Ken knocked on the apartment door with a bottle of wine in his hand.  He waited for a few minutes before knocking again.

            Miyako opened the door.  Ken's eyes nearly fell out.  She was wearing an _extremely_ low-cut dress, and it was _very_ short.  

            "Hello Ichijouji-san," she greeted him calmly.  

            He gave her the bottle of wine.  "Here.  A present."

            "Thank you."

            Her apartment was huge.  Tastefully decorated Ken immediately took in the layout.  Typical really.  Enormous, closed-off kitchen, which led to the dining area and a hallway that, he assumed, led to the private quarters.  The sitting area was adjacent to the dining area, looking comfortable and spacious.  The balcony was sandwiched in between the dining area and sitting area and provided a spectacular view.  "You've a nice apartment," commented Ken.

            "Thank you.  Come sit down and eat dinner."

            He looked at her uncertainly.  She was definitely up to something, he thought to himself as she served him a sumptuous Italian meal. She had clearly taken the pains to set things up for him.  There were lit candles on the table, and their places were already set.  She'd told him to take a seat and served him dinner and drink, waving off his efforts to help her.

            "No questions, no talking.  Not until we're done eating.  And I'll start the conversation," warned Miyako before she dug into her food.

            She was different, thought Ken as he chewed, sipped and swallowed.  Her hair, which she had previously worn long, was now around shoulder length, hanging neatly around her face.  Her glasses were gone, and he wondered whether she had gotten laser-eye surgery, or if it was just contacts.  

            Finally, dinner was finished and dessert was pushed away.  Miyako brought out a silver case, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

            "Did you know that I used to love you?" began Miyako conversationally.  She paused for a second, as if considering something and then took a puff from her cigarette.  "I mean, _really_ love, not one of those silly schoolgirl crushes."

            "No, I didn't know that.  I'm sorry," answered Ken, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

            Miyako shrugged nonchalantly.  "It was a long time ago."

            Ken hadn't changed much, she examined thoughtfully.  His hair was blue as ever; it's locks glimmering faintly in the light.  Since when was it fair for a man to have skin so translucent and fair?  Who else had a mouth that luscious, utterly kissable in every respect?  She decided that there was no other nose as perfect as his and it had to be a sin to have lashes that long and thick.  Absently, she sucked on her cigarette again, enjoying the sensation as the smoke travelled down her throat.  His eyes were confused, frightened.  She exhaled.

            "You know those things cause cancer," Ken said pointedly.  

            "Everyone dies sooner or later," she replied philosophically, taking another puff to prove her indifference.  

            She was wrong.  Ken _had_ changed.  His body was no longer thin and lanky as she had remembered it.  He was nicely muscled, toned to perfection and _lean._ That was it; he was lean.  It was as if he didn't have a single ounce of flesh to spare for anything other than to add to his perfection.

            "Miyako-san?" he finally queried, somewhat hesitantly.

            "Yes?"

            "What do you want?"

            Miyako sucked on her cigarette again, throwing away another thirty seconds of her life nonchalantly.  Exhaling, she leaned back into her chair to further examine him.

            He had a nice posture, noted she objectively.  He wasn't ill at ease, but neither was he slouching in the hard-backed kitchen chair.  And he could_ dress._ Damn, he had style.  An Armani suit and tie, ironed and creased to perfection. His manners were impeccable.  That was expected; this was Ichijouji Ken.

            He arched a brow at her, and she inhaled once again, slowly blowing the smoke in his direction.  He blinked a few times, but made no move to wave off the acrid stench.  This said a lot about him.

            "What do you want Miyako-san?" he asked again, beginning to feel irritated at the delay.

            Miyako took one last puff before stubbing out the cigarette.  She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table.  Screw manners, she thought to herself.  "Do you really want to know why I asked you up here Ken-_kun_?"

            "Stop beating around the bush Miyako-san.  If you don't want to tell me, then don't," he said, getting ready to push his chair back from the table.  "But don't think tha—"

            Miyako held up an authoritative hand and snapped, "Don't you dare move Ichijouji.  I'm not done yet."  

            He stopped his movements to look at her, his cerulean eyes burning into hers, but not even the former Kaizer was a match for Inoue Miyako.  He sank gracefully back into his seat.

            "In all of my life, I have never known anyone quite like you," she began conversationally.  She picked up her wine glass and sipped from it minutely.  "In fact, you're the only Chosen Child that I've seen in years."

            "I've been in and out of love a few times, had a few flings, and even got married once.  But in each relationship, I always ended up comparing my partner to you.  I don't know why; maybe I'd loved you then too."

            "I'm…flattered," remarked Ken, unable to think of anything else to say.

            "That question has haunted me for years.  What was so special about Ichijouji Ken?  Digimon Kaizer, and then loving partner of Wormmon, and now, the most fucked up asshole on this side of the hemisphere."  She stood up then and moved to where he was sitting, pushing him back down onto his seat with a firm hand.  "I thought that it might've been your appearance.  Your hair, those thick long lashes, the gorgeous eyes, that perfect nose, kissable lips and impossible hands…they are undeniably beautiful."  As she was explaining this, she was touching, caressing each part of his face with a feather-light touch.  He sat still, struggling to maintain a calm expression.  "Especially those hands; I used to imagine what they could do to me, sometimes with a lover, sometimes by myself."  At this point, she stopped her explorations to run a teasing fingernail down the back of his neck, causing chills to travel down his spine.  

            Then, quite suddenly, she stopped moving.  She just stood there and looked at him, her eyes growing dark with any number of emotions, the predominant being lust.  Then without any warning, she moved behind him and pulled his chair back a few feet away from the table, ignoring the scuffmarks on the tiled floor.

            She began to circle him, eyeing him as a vulture eyes its prey.  "But it wasn't just that.  And then I thought that it could've been your kind self, your loving and caring side that kept me attracted to you.  But I've dated a lot of men and women that were kind and caring, and I've never been able to keep my attention on them."

            "Miyako-san, what is it that you want?" Ken asked irritably.  

            Miyako glared at him.  "Shut up and let me continue or else you're going to know what it feels like to have your dick twisted around your balls so hard that they'll fall off," she said fiercely.  Ken subsided.  She continued.

            "And then I figured it out; it wasn't those hands or your impossible nature.  It was _you._  You're a man in every sense of the word, I can tell.  You'd be a great fuck, the best in every way possible.  I know these things; _I can tell._"

            She stopped her circling, standing squarely in front of him.  Suddenly, she leaned over him, trapping him by placing her hands on the armrests and leaning her head against his. Her shoulder-length hair blocked out every trace of light. It encased them completely in darkness.  "You asked me what I wanted," she whispered.  "Are you sure you want to know?"

            "I don't supposed I have a choice," he replied.

            Leaning even closer, she whispered in his ear, "You.  All of you."  And then with every evidence of enjoyment, began to tease and lick the earlobe with a thoroughness that would've made any whore or prostitute beg the former Child to teach them her secrets.  

            "I've always wanted you, Ichijouji Ken.  And now…I'm going to have you," she whispered into the same ear, blowing gently into it.  He felt himself turn hot, then cold.

            "Miyako-san, " he began, "I'm sorry bu—" he never got to finish his sentence because she kissed him.  

            Savagely, she penetrated his mouth and explored it thoroughly, enjoying the taste of wine and dinner all at the same time.  Her hands were busy unzipping his fly and pulling out his shirt, and then sliding up under to examine the planes of his chest before moving to more interesting regions.  

            For a shocked moment or two, Ken didn't move.  His sensible side took control for a brief second and he wrenched his mouth away from hers.  "Miyako-san, I don't think that we should be—" she interrupted him again, pinning her mouth so savagely to his that he had no escape.

            Finally, he could no longer fight her.  He let his body control him and he realized that he was beginning to respond.  Their mouths were locked frantically in a battle of tongues, his hand moved up her bare leg and under her dress, and found (not to his surprise) that she wasn't wearing underwear.  She gasped, breaking contact with his mouth.  This gave him the respite he needed.

            "Miyako-san, I don't think we should be doing this."

            She stepped back from him and gazed at him, her look disbelieving.  Then, with an arch smile, she slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders.  She wasn't wearing a bra.

            He closed his eyes and turned away.  "Ken-kun," purred Miyako, "Are you sure?"

            "Yes," he said, his voice sounding strangled.  He felt her hand grasp his cheek and turn it towards her.  

            "Open your eyes, Ichijouji," she commanded.  

            Helpless to do otherwise, he obeyed.  Her gaze captivated him.  "Now kiss me," she ordered.  "And don't fight it.  Just…let go."

            Feeling as if he was being led on, he did as she ordered.  After all, he thought to himself when she started to pull down his trousers, he had no choice.

            A few minutes later, he wasn't even able to think.

            It was over too soon.  

            Miyako sighed, her head resting on his.  His head was inclined gently on her breasts. She was straddling him, holding him prisoner.  His shirt was unbuttoned, the tie still secure around his neck.  His pants were a puddle on the floor, as was his underwear.  They were both slicked with sweat, their hair plastered to their faces.

            "You got what you wanted," he said finally.  She shifted a bit and smiled lazily when she felt him rise in her.

            "That's not enough Ken," she said, shifting her head so that she could look down at him.  "I want all that you can give.  I want _all_ of you."

            "I don't think I can give that to you," Ken quietly replied, meeting her eyes squarely.  "You're asking for a lot." 

            Taking his chin firmly in her hand, she forced his eyes to meet his.  "I'm not asking for love Ken.  Love is a luxury that neither one of us can afford.  I'm asking that you don't tell the others where I am.  And in return, you get sex.  Hot, dirty, and _wild_ sex, and if that doesn't appeal to you then I don't know what does," she said firmly, shifting her hips again to prove her point.

            "It doesn't," he stated flatly, his eyes boring into hers.  She shook her head, denying his words.

            "It does.  I can see it in your eyes.  How could it not?  You're the most wild, primeval sexalicious man I've ever met or seen in my life; how could the offer of sex with no strings attached not tempt someone like you?" and to prove her point, she disengaged herself entirely, standing to face him.  

            "Tell me that you don't want this," she said, gesturing to herself.

            Miyako may not be beautiful, but she had a gorgeous body, Ken had to admit.  Curvy in just the right places, she was ripe for the picking, and offering herself to him.  He'd be a fool to take her on, and an idiot to refuse her.

            "I don't know," he finally admitted.

            Miyako arched a brow in his direction.  "There's no rush Ken-kun.  Take all the time you want."  She smiled lazily before leaning over to whisper in his ear, "but not too much time," and delicately licked the lobe.  He shuddered.

            "It's a win-win situation," persuaded Miyako.

            "I can't.  _Nine years _is not a short time.  It's wrong, Miyako-san."

            "No it's not.  We're not allowing our emotions to get in the way, and we know exactly what we are getting ourselves into.  We're not rushing into this blind.  How can that make this wrong?" she asked him. 

            Ken shook his head.  "I don't know."

            "No strings attached, Ichijouji.  Once you turn me down, I'm gone forever," warned Miyako.  "And I'm not just talking about the sex."

            That decided Ken.  "Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.  

            Miyako nodded.  "I'm sure.  So…do you want me or not?"

            Ken stood up and kicked off his pants, shrugged out of his shirt and was just about to remove his tie when she stopped him.  "Don't," she told him.  "It'll make things interesting," and then she seized his head to bring it down to hers, already hungry and savage.

            Miyako was right; the tie _did_ make things interesting.

            Ken opened his eyes and stretched, wincing as his new bruises and scratches made them known to him.  He was covered by a quilt and lying on the carpeted floor, a cushion pillow tucked securely underneath his head.  His memory flooded back to him and he chuckled softly.  Stretching his hand lazily, he reached for Miyako and encountered air.  

            Shifting so he faced the other way, he saw her standing outside on her balcony, thoroughly naked.  She was smoking a cigarette already, and the sun was just beginning to rise.  Rising himself, he gathered the quilt around him and quietly made his way to the balcony, closing the glass door quietly behind him.  She glanced at him briefly when he stepped onto the space with her, and then returned her attention back to the sunrise.  Her eyes were slightly obscured by the glasses that now adorned her face and smoke rose lazily from the cigarette in her hand.  He noted clinically that she had circles under her eyes.

            "Cigarette?" she asked, pointing to a pack and lighter on the ledge.  

            Shaking his head in a negative, he asked, "Aren't you cold?" 

            She gave him an amused look through her glasses.  "Not particularly…unless you want to warm me up."

            "You are the most sex-crazed nymphomaniac I've ever met," he remarked.

            "And you don't like it?" she queried, her face taking on a hurt expression as she puffed away on her cigarette.

            "You don't hear me complaining, do you?" he replied.  He snorted ironically.  "You know, it's strange; of all the Chosen—"

            "Don't say it," she snapped suddenly, turning around fully to face him.  "Don't you dare say it."

            It was her eyes, he decided suddenly, that made her seem so different.  Not the absence of her long hair, but the lost look in her eyes, as if she was still floundering, searching desperately for something.  She couldn't hide that from him, not even behind those frames.  "Say what?" he asked coldly, holding the quilt securely around him with one hand.

            "I've put that part of my life behind me.  You should too," she said finally, after a moment's silence.

            "I can't.  It's a part of me as much as it is a part of you.  I'm the Child of Kindness and you're still the Child of Love and Purity, whether you like it or not."

            "Shut up," she said.  "Just shut up Ken."  

            "Why should I?  You didn't hesitate to bring it up yesterday," he pointed out logically.  

            She sighed, defeated.  "That was yesterday, and now it's today.  Don't bring up the past, Ichijouji.  It won't do any good."

            Adhering to her wishes, Ken backed down gracefully, and she turned back to watch the sunrise.  "We were wrong," she said suddenly, watching as the sun's golden fingers engulfed the city below her.  "We had thought that our dreams made us who we are, but it's not our dreams, it's our actions that make and break us.  We used to think that there was a 'happily ever after' for everyone who went for their dream, but in reality, there's no such thing.

            "We were the unlucky ones.  The Chosen I mean.  We had so much responsibility placed on our shoulders, and as a way of coping, we delved further into our dreams, not realizing that the Digital World itself was our downfall.  The Digital World encouraged us, _influenced_ us into believing that there was a happily ever after for everyone.

            "It's all fine and dandy for Hikari, Takeru, Daisuke and Iori; Daisuke especially.  That boy never had anything go wrong, and had everything go right.  I used to hate him for that; how is it that this _boy_ could have it all?  He still has his digimon; he was well on his way to his dream.  It was because of him that I'd kept clinging onto this idea that dreams are people because he embodies his dream.  He had a happily, ever after, and I didn't.  

            "And then I figured it out; we're only playthings to the Fates or the stars or whoever the hell is up there.  And whoever He or She is, they're laughing at us, mocking us, taunting us by waving our hopes in our face and grasping them out of our hands."  Miyako paused to take a puff from her cigarette again.  The sun was hanging fully in the sky, casting brilliant beams on Tokyo.  "Life's a bitch," she sighed, "and we're all living it."

            "Has anyone ever told you that you're the most cynical nymphomaniac to ever walk on this planet?" queried Ken after a moment's silence.

            She chuckled weakly.  "What's with you and that word?" she asked, throwing away the last remains of her cigarette.  

            "It suits you," he replied.

            Before he knew what was happening, she had him backed up to the glass door, her eyes intent and a lazy smile stretched across her face.  "Really now?  In what way?" she purred, busily working on prying his fingers from the quilt.  He winced from her cold fingers.

            "You're freezing," he said, and before _she_ knew what was happening, enfolded her into the warmth of the quilt, letting her chilled body catch the warmth that emanated from him.  It was a tight fit, but he managed to get it wrapped fully around her.  

            She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting contentedly on his chest.  They were both completely naked.  Neither of them minded.  "You know, I've a better way to warm up," she said, a hand beginning to travel below his waist.  

            "I have to go home, change and get to work," he warned her, gritting his teeth against the sensations she caused.  

            "Don't worry, I'll be quick," she promised.  Her other hand reached up to bring his head down so she could whisper, "Ever done it on a balcony?"  His grip on the quilt loosened, ever so slightly.

            "When did you take off your contacts?" he asked, aware of the slight rise in his voice.  

            She smiled lazily against his chest.  Her glasses were pressed into his flesh, sending curious tingles down his spine.  Her nails brushed against the crevice in his buttocks slightly.  "Why do you want to know?"

            He shut his eyes.  His breath started to come faster.  "Just curious," answered he.  Silence.  "And I have," he added.

            "Have what?" she asked.  

            "I have done it on a balcony before."

            "Ah," she murmured, her right hand working busily in the quilt.  "There's always second and third helpings Ken-kun," she told him, her left hand firmly placed at the nape of his neck.  

            He let the quilt drop.  "I suppose there is," he answered.

            Ken left after promising to pick her up for dinner.  "I've some files at the office to look at," he said while dressing.

            "Come pick me up after work then," said Miyako, who was now wrapped in the quilt.  "We'll go out for dinner."  Ken pulled on his pants and socks.  

            Ken flushed.  "Thank you for dinner.  It was delicious," he said, belatedly remembering his manners as he shoved his feet hastily into his shoes.

            "Anytime you want," answered Miyako, deliberately using the tip of her tongue to trace her lips.  "You were delicious too."

            If possible, Ken turned even redder.  "I'll pick you up at around seven tonight," he replied, unlocking the door.  A hand pushed down the door.  He blinked.

            "Be on time," breathed Miyako.  Her other hand was situated at a very delicate position.  "Or else," and she gave him a good squeeze.  Suddenly, she released him, and stared at him with unblinking eyes.  "Get to work now; don't want you to be late."

            He let out an explosive breath.  "I guess I should.  See you tonight Miyako-san." 

            She winked at him.  "And tomorrow," she added.

            He left, closing the door behind him hastily.  Chuckling under her breath, Miyako loosened a hand to lock it.  "That was interesting," she said aloud.  

            She took a quick shower, wrapped herself in her favourite robe and when she came out, she checked the clock quickly.  "Damn," she muttered under her breath.  Picking up her cell phone, she dialled a number quickly, and waited impatiently for an answer.  

            "Hello?  Kimiko-san?  It's Keiko.  I won't be coming in today.  Headache…uh huh…tell the boss that I'll have everything done by tomorrow.  Yeah…don't worry.  All right…thanks."  She ended the call and headed straight for the master bedroom.

            She didn't even take time to look around her, only fell onto the bed and hoped for a temporary respite.  She hadn't slept all night.  She never slept when she had someone over.  It just wasn't in her capacity to do so.  Only with one person had she ever slept and—breaking off the chain of thought, she rearranged herself in the bed, shedding her robe and pulling the covers over her.  She closed her eyes and waited patiently, knowing with her innate knowledge that sleep wasn't far off.

            _They were in a car, watching the stars blossom lightly over their heads.  From the chest up, they were visible, but their hands and legs melted in the darkness.  He turned to her, intent._

            _"I love you."_

_            She stared at him for a few moments, shocked beyond belief.  "I-I-I don't know what to say," she finally stuttered._

_            "Say that you love me too," implored he, his fingers resting upon her invisible knee ever so casually.  His fingers felt cold and cruel.._

_            "I-I-I-oh dammit, I don't know."_

_            "Say it. Please.  I know you feel the same."_

_            "What makes you say that?" she queried angrily, her eyes starting to flash._

_            He leaned in close to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.  "Because you want me.  I can see it in your eyes, the way you act, the way you move.  You're begging for me…you know you want me, and if that's not love, then what is it?"_

_            She pushed him away.  "You're scaring me.  I want to go home."_

_            "Say it," he commanded, his tone demanding._

_            She felt her ire rise higher.  "I don't love you.  You're a great guy, but I think it's time that we ended things."_

_            He was silent for a few moments.  "You don't mean that, do you?"_

_            She gazed at him steadily.  "Yes I do," answered she strongly._

_            "Take that back, bitch," he hissed suddenly, leaning in closer to her._

_            She backed away as far as possible, her fingers scrambling for the door handle.  "No, I won't."_

_            He held up his hands, his eyes black with murderous intent.  She very nearly screamed at the sight of them; they weren't hands, they were scissors.  "Say that again, why don't you?" he ordered pleasantly._

_            "If you think that you can frighten me into declaring my undying love for you, you have another thing coming," she said with as much courage as she could muster.  The door opened and she would've leapt out had one of the hand-scissors blades slash cruelly at her throat._

_            "Close the door bitch."_

_            Frightened, she did as he ordered.  With a malicious smile, he drew her legs out so that she was lying fully on the seats and he began to snip away at her clothing.  "Now, where were we?"_

_            "I don't love you."_

_            "Say that again, why don't you?"_

_            "I hate you," she cried, kicking him as hard as she could, but to no effect.  He was as hard as steel it seemed.  It was like kicking futilely against a brick wall._

_            "Try again.  I'm giving you one more chance," he said, now fully lying on top of her._

_            "I don't love you."_

_            He glanced at her pityingly before the cruel gleam came back.  "Wrong."_

_            She screamed._


	2. Paper Doll

Notes: For Ling.  Happy belated birthday, dear.  *hugs*

Part II: Paper Doll

            There is an unwritten and unbroken rule that complicated people must have complicated pasts.  Inoue Miyako was no exception.

            She had always been popular with the boys.  As a teenager, she may not have been _beautiful_ in the exact definition of the word, but there was something in her, that was embedded into her skin that drew and held the eyes of everyone.  Outsiders never understood what this was, but she knew that it was her ability to understand love and purity and their primal opposites (lust and corruption) that made her popular.  She _knew, _without a doubt, that if she exerted herself, she could have had any boy in Odaiba High, and then some.

            At the age of nineteen, Inoue Miyako was still a virgin.  "How is a girl supposed to keep her reputation if she sleeps around?" she'd once said to Hawkmon.  He'd laughed and approved of her abstinence.  She did allow a few kisses, maybe even a touch or two, but from that point on, she'd draw the line.  "I'm good," she'd say demurely with a charming laugh and a flirtatious eyelash flutter.  The males would always melt.

            She dated a lot of males, excluding only the Digidestined from her conquests.  "It'd be like dating my brothers," she was reported to have said.  As a collective whole, each one of the Chosen males had sighed or laughed, from resignation and relief.  After all, who wouldn't want to date the delicious Inoue Miyako?

            She had the power to control men.  

            She relished it, revelled in it.  She loved what her sexuality gave her, and she used it as a weapon, a tool.  She knew it was her downfall, but she had stopped caring a long time ago.  She'd never gotten back up, had she?

            But because she was still falling deeper and deeper, she had the power to control Ichijouji Ken.  

            A spiral of cigarette smoke drifts lazily into the air and dissipates.  She doesn't even have that luxury.__

_            There's a paper doll_

_ In the wooden trunk._

_            It sits abandoned and alone._

_            Its blank eyes stare blankly_

_ At nothing._

_            The thin dress is yellowed by regret,_

_            The once-scarlet lips are parted_

_            In silent and murderous accusation._

_ "I'm a doll,_

_I'm a pixie,_

_I'm a princess,_

_I'm a fairy,_

_I'm a queen,_

_I'm a dancer,_

_I'm a dream,_

_                        I'm more than that,_

_                         I'm a piece of paper,_

_Write on me,_

_Scribble,_

_Tear me up._

_                        I'm no longer any of that._

_I'm lost,_

_I'm desolate,_

_I'm rejected,_

_I'm broken,_

_I'm alone,_

_I'm misunderstood,_

_I'm ripped,_

_I'm torn,_

_I'm a doll."_

            "Do you love her, Ken-chan?"

            Ken started at the question and let out a snort of laughter.  "Love, no.  If you asked whether or not I am attracted to her, I would have to say yes."       

            Wormmon paused, shifting a bit on the desk.  They were encased comfortably in Ken's office, pretending to work.

            "Did you love her?"

            Ken paused.  "Why do I get the feeling that we've had this conversation before?" he nearly complained.  Wormmon pondered the question for a moment.

            "Because you're Ken-chan and I'm supposed to help you?" he answered helpfully.  Ken groaned at the simplistic answer.  Wormmon still didn't understand many things about humans, even if he had spent the last fifteen years living with one.

            "But you're evading the question, Ken-chan," Wormmon said severely.  "Did you love her before?"  Ken swore under his breath.  While Wormmon might not understand many things about humans, he understood a lot about his partner.  Which was a good thing and a bad thing.

            "I don't know," he finally admitted.  

            It was Wormmon's turn to snort.  "You know you can be honest with me," he semi-scolded.  Ken rolled his eyes.

            "I _am _being honest," he replied irritably.  Wormmon simply stared at him.  Ken threw his hands up in the air.

            "I wasn't in love with her, but I had something for her before.  But that was nine years ago, Wormmon.  What was I supposed to do?"

            "You could've told her," his partner replied simply.  

            Ken made a sound of disgust.  "As if that would've made a difference.  She had her pick of guys.  Besides, she would never date one of the Chosen.  She even said so herself.  And after Poromon, it didn't seem appropriate.  Besides," his tone softening, "I always had Daisuke."

            "True," the insect admitted.  "But she liked you at first.  Besides, it didn't work out with Daisuke."  He stretched his legs out and winced.  "Do you think you could scratch my back?  I've an itch," he asked apologetically.

            "She was infatuated with Boy Genius Ken, not me," he replied mildly as he scratched.  Wormmon sighed in bliss.

            "How can you be so sure?" he queried after a brief moment of silence.

            "She didn't treat me any differently from the other Chosen, nor did she flirt with me like she did with those other boys."  Ken exchanged hands, stretching his fingers slightly.  "If Poromon hadn't died, maybe we might've known."

            Wormmon didn't reply, knowing the truth in that statement.  They had a few more moments of contemplative silence.

            Miyako-san had always been popular with males, men and boys alike.  Therefore, the Chosen took no notice of her then-beau, Mikage Hiroshi.  He was a bulky man with a handsome enough face.  Not that she would date anyone without one.  

            Poromon disliked him.  

            A digimon's instincts were always better than a human's, but Poromon had always disliked Miyako's suitors.  "Jealousy," they dismissed it.  It was, but instincts are instincts, and when they belong to a digimon, they should be listened to.

            No one listened.

            Miyako was on a date with Hiroshi one night.  No one knew why, but Poromon followed his partner.  Tailmon reported that she had heard him say repeatedly, It's not safe.  It's my job to protect her.  I have to go.  But, the feline digimon had added, I heard that in my heart, not with my ears.

            Good enough.

            It is hypothesized that Hiroshi had tried to rape Miyako-san, or at the very least, force himself upon her (which is the same thing when one thinks about it).  Poromon had jumped in, fangs bared and hackles up.  He'd given a war cry, screaming, "Leave Miyako-san alone!"

            He hadn't seen the knife in Hiroshi's hand.  Miyako-san didn't have her digimental.

            The simplest facts, the harshest truths.

            They were found in a deserted parking lot.  Miyako-san was the easiest to find.  Her shirt and skirt were torn (a knife had cut through it, a professional had noted) and she was cradling a soft, round thing close to her.  She was bathed in blood that shouldn't have existed.

            The parking lot was deserted.  There were no lights.  It was abandoned after all, they noted clinically.  The perfect place for these things.  Normally, they wouldn't have found her, even have _known _to look for her had they not received multiple phone calls from various Chosen.  Each of their Digimon had fallen into convulsions, screaming Poromon and Miyako-san's names.  And the Chosen were always listened to.

            She was screaming.

            Ken remembered the sound; he had arrived five minutes later, being closest to the area.  He was on his way home from work when he saw the lights, the stark quality of the red and pink intertwined and separating.  The signs were flickering, and the screams had echoed through his mind.  He remembered stumbling blindly to its source, running.

            The rest of the Children had arrived within minutes, most of them utilizing their Digimon.  They'd followed the fading light, he realized.  It was too late; Purity had faded, and Love was gone.

            She wouldn't stop screaming.  Finally, unable to stand the sound, Mimi-san had slapped her across the face, and Miyako-san lapsed abruptly into unconsciousness.

            Awful, awful silence.

            The Children pried Poromon away from her cold fingers; it took the combined efforts of Daisuke, Ken and Taichi.  Anguish multiplies strength.

            Sora removed her jacket, reckless and heedless of anything else, and wrapped the unconscious girl in it.

            The police knew when they had been outnumbered, outmatched.  They acceded to the Children and left to find the perpetrator.  There always was one, they'd reasoned.  Ken rose to follow them, motioning to the others to go without him.  "Take her to the hospital.  There's one three blocks away from here.  You should be able to see it," he'd said hoarsely.  They'd nodded, and carefully, Sora and Yamato carried Miyako and boarded Birdramon.  The fastest traveller, they'd said.

            Ken found Hiroshi, stumbling blindly in the dim yellow light of a deserted street.  He'd taken him back to the parking lot, the darkest place for him now.  On their way, Ken found himself feeling sorry for him.  He was damned to a hell of condemnation from the world, and that, if anything, would be harder to bear than murder.  A policeman was waiting and nodded smartly when Ken deposited the boy into his care.  The bubbles, they'd said.  The young digimon's bubbles had blinded him.  Hopefully it was permanent, one had said spitefully.  No one argued.

            He'd left for the hospital.

            At first they thought that Mimi-san might have hit her too hard, but dismissed the idea quickly.  "Do I _look _that strong?" she'd retorted when Daisuke remarked upon it thoughtlessly.

            Miyako-san would not wake up.  She lay in a stupor, her eyes glued shut with grief.

            Three relentless days later, they opened.  Ken hadn't seen it happen, but Koushirou had.  The older digidestined had described it to him.

            "It was as if all the life had dissipated," he said softly.  "Normally, we rejoice when someone wakes up from a coma like hers, but I didn't.  It was as if her eyes sucked all the light out of the room."  The redhead shivered.  "It would have been better if she never woke up."

            Normally, those would have been the cruellest words to say, but as Ken found out, they were the kindest.

            Awake, Miyako was worse.  She refused all food and drink.  An IV stand was brought in.  She sat in the bed, staring listlessly into nothing.  Melodrama had never been a part of Koushirou's character or speech.

            She wasted away before them.  Her family visited her every day, taking shifts at her side, talking and pleading her.  A sign, an answer perhaps.  No response.  

            It took Iori to convince them to allow the Chosen to take a shift as well.  We love her, he'd said to them gently.  Too gently, Ken had thought, because the softer the kindness, the harder the blow.  He, of all people, should know.

            They acceded.  You were always like a brother to her.  You all were.

            She lost weight.  What had once been a lush, blooming girl was now a wasted and pathetic child.  The hollows in her cheeks were testimony to that.

            She was a shadow of her former, vibrant self.

            Ken went to the hospital early one day to take a shift with her.  Talk to her, Daisuke had pleaded.  You lost your digimon before.  Maybe…

            Not like that, Ken replied sharply.  And there hadn't been a body.

            Daisuke relented, tears shining in his eyes.  Ken immediately regretted his words; Miyako was like another sister to him, he remembered.  She was like that for all of them.

            Hikari-san was there, sitting in the chair beside the bed.  Ken raised an eyebrow; it wasn't her shift.  Her hands were twisted nervously in her lap.  

            I'm going to bring her out, she'd said in a rush.  Please watch over me.  Ken felt gratified.

            Shouldn't Takeru-san be doing that? he asked, unable to stop.  Hikari-san had laughed, her voice holding no trace of bitterness.  She was always an actress.

            I should stop depending on him, she said, her voice rich with heart-breaking amusement.  Besides, you know what it's like.  The darkness I mean.  You can bring me out if I'm in trouble; Takeru-kun wouldn't have been able to.  Please Ken-san?

            He'd given in to her request.  For all of their sakes.

            He watched her take hold of Miyako-san's hand and fall into a light trance.  He watched her for three agonizing hours and fought the need to envelop himself into that darkness, to take it away from Miyako-san.  To break the connection, he'd had to break the contact between the pair, and he knew it would have devastating effects on both of them.  Their hearts were in sync, after all.

            Hikari-san had done it.  In three hours, she had managed to accomplish what the rest of them had not been able to do with three weeks.  Miyako-san had blinked and recognized her surroundings.  She responded to people and within the week, had left the care of the hospital.

            She grew healthy again, but never was she vibrant.  An accomplished actress, she fooled everyone into thinking that she had accepted Poromon's loss.  

            Ken had never seen her cry.

            Then, one day, she vanished.  She left no note, no clue whatsoever.  She simply packed a few simple things, taken a little money with her and left.  Locks of her purple hair had littered her room liberally, but that was all.

            No one knew where she was.  Everyone was frantic, looking for her, but she had disappeared. 

            And Ken had found her, nine years later. 

            "You still like her, don't you Ken-chan?"  Wormmon asked suddenly, breaking Ken's reverie.  "That's why you didn't come home last night."  

            Ken shrugged and stopped scratching.  Wormmon laughed.

            "Of course you do!  If you didn't, you would've told everyone where she is by now!" he crowed.  Ken swatted at his Digimon playfully.

            "This is for old-time's sake," he said irritably.  Wormmon glanced at him.  

            "Ken-chan, the sex can't be _that _good," he said suddenly.  Ken didn't answer, and the insect's eyes widened.  "Oh.  Dear," he said suddenly.  

            "She's good, I'll give her that," said Ken.  He gave the insect one last pat.  "We have to go home now.  I have to get ready."

            "Get ready for what?" queried the Digimon.  Ken smiled.  It looked feral.

            "My date."

            Make no mistake; Inoue Miyako was a strong-minded woman.  So when she demanded to be taken a popular and expensive Italian restaurant, Ken complied with little or no protest.  After all, Miyako-san was Miyako-san, he thought wryly as he watched her order for the both of them.  She had the air of a socialite, the grace of royalty, and the assuredness of a politician.  When she felt like it, that was.

            "Do you recommend any of the wines?"  A pause as Miyako listened.  "Yes, that one sounds good.  A bottle of that please," she said coolly and efficiently.  She smiled brilliantly at their waiter, who blinked and sputtered for less than a second before nodding politely and leaving them alone.

            "You really enjoy doing that to them, don't you?" Ken queried moments after.  Miyako raised a quizzical brow, and then smiled winsomely at him.

            "Why Ken-kuuun, what a thing to say!" she exclaimed, practically sparkling at him.  He winced, and waved her off.

            "All right, all right, you win," he sputtered.  She laughed lightly.  It was a very un-Miyako laugh.  Miyako-san never did things lightly.

            "So," she started, "what you do?"

            Ken started slightly, but realized that he had never told her exactly what his job was, or how he had found her.  

            "Well," he started slowly.  "I'm a detective."

            "Like a private investigator?"

            "Well…not exactly," he replied.  Carefully and concisely, he began to detail the sort of work that he dealt with, making sure not to mention Wormmon's name.  He didn't want frighten Miyako-san.

            "How about Wormmon?"

            Ken started visibly, his cerulean eyes widening.  She simply stared at him, her expression quizzical, but there was a strange light in her eyes, as if she was visibly repressing something.

            "Wormmon…helps me," he stated cautiously.

            Thankfully, the waiter interrupted the conversation with wine and glasses.  He poured them the requisite inch, carefully placed the bottle in the ice bucket, and left them alone.

            Hastily, before Miyako-san could get a word in edge-wise, Ken recounted some of the cases that he had worked on, always careful to leave Wormmon's name unsaid.  His cases (which ranged from divorce to the occasional murder) went through the appetizers, main course, and a bottle and a half of wine.  However, by the time dessert arrived, he had exhausted his repertoire.

            Miyako poured herself another glass.  Ken mentally tallied it as her fifth or sixth of the night.  

            "Ken-kun," she said very distinctly, "You haven't said anything about the other Children."

            Ken felt a chill go through his body.  He had never realized that Miyako-san was capable of such masochistic cruelty.  His very nature repelled against such an act.

            "There's really nothing to say," he began slowly.  Her eyes bore into his.  He shivered at what he saw in them.  Don't lie to me, they said.  It's not fair to me.

            Unable to withstand the intensity of the gaze, he drained his glass.  Screw lucidity, he thought to himself as he poured himself another.  She had to be mildly buzzed by the wine.  She had at least drunk two or three more glasses than he had, and he had never had a high tolerance for alcohol.  He doubted that she did either.

            "Well?" she asked expectantly.  Don't keep me waiting, she was saying.  I don't be here forever.

            "Daisuke's doing well," he started quietly.  "He has a noodle cart that he brings all around Odaiba.  I've heard that it's extremely popular.

            "Taichi-san is married, and has a son already.  He's working with the United Nations.  His wife's name is Reika.  She has a Gumimon, if you can believe it.

            "Takeru-san married Ayaka-san.  Do you remember her?"  Miyako nodded, her eyes registering shock.  "He's been writing a column for the local newspaper, and apparently, it's very popular.  He's also writing his first novel.

            "Koushirou-san is trying to adopt a child at the moment.  He's never married, but I think he's seeing someone.  She's American and her name is 'Rachel' or something like that."  He paused to drain his glass.  The alcohol burned pleasantly through him.

            "Yamato-san and Sora-san have recently celebrated their third wedding anniversary, and they're expecting their first child.  They've named Taichi-san the godfather."  Miyako snorted.

            "So she finally chose one," she remarked callously.  Ken flinched before he continued.

            "Mimi-san and Jyou-san have married as well, not to anyone's surprise.  They're expecting their second child.  They have a son together.  Mimi-san is a chef.

            "Iori-san is studying to be a lawyer in America.  I think he's met someone there, and might bring her home during the holidays.

            "Hikari-san is a teacher and pregnant.  I don't know the sordid details, nor do I want to know, but the father isn't one of the Chosen, I don't think."  He lapsed into silence.  She watched him enigmatically, her fingers twirling her empty wine glass carefully.

            "How about their Digimon?  What do they do?" she queried calmly, pouring herself more wine.  "Do they follow their partners around blindly or do they have their own lives?"

            Ken winced visibly.  "You know better than that, Miyako-san," he said as gently as he could.  Her gaze never wavered, and in the end, Ken was the one to lower his head.  "Or you should know, at least," he whispered.

            She laughed then, a cruel, high sound.  "How would I know?  My Digimon is dead, and I'm still here.  Tell me, Ken-kun, what the fuck is _that?  _Where's the sense of proportion in these things?  I thought life was supposed to be _kind._"  She tossed back the wine, her eyes glazed.  She was about to pour herself another glass, but he clasped his hand firmly on her wrist just as she reached for it.

            "Miyako-san, I think you've had too much to drink," he said abruptly, signalling for the cheque.  She made no move to deny the accusation, her cheeks flushed with alcohol and high emotions.

            "I think I loved you before, you know," she said softly in the tense silence.  "But only just a little.  But it was never enough for me to break up what you had with Daisuke."

            Ken stilled and released her wrist.  He'd left a mark, he noticed detachedly.  The waiter brought the bill.  He checked over the prices routinely before rigidly flicking his credit card onto the tiny plastic tray.

            "Daisuke and I never had anything," he stated quietly.

            She smiled lazily at him before emptying the rest of the wine bottle into her glass.  She sipped from it leisurely.  Beneath the table, beneath the exquisitely embroidered tablecloth, beneath heaven and purgatory but above hell itself, her foot, free from heel and shoe, slid up his pant leg seductively.  He felt what blood left drain from his face.

            "Stop it," he said unconvincingly.  "Stop it, Miyako-san."

            "You don't like it?" she purred, drinking in his blood and heat as if it were the wine she was sipping from.  Her eyes positively sparkled.  Her foot made invisible trails up his leg.

            The waiter returned with his card, and Ken signed the bill automatically.  Miyako smiled up at the waiter from her spot.  "Thank you for providing such unforgettable service," she said slyly, and winked when the waiter flushed.

            "T-t-thank you for dining," he managed to stammer before fleeing.  Ken did not blame him in the slightest.

              Ken pulled his leg away from her wandering foot, pulling his jacket on hurriedly. 

            "Ever done it in a parking lot before?" she murmured when he came around to hold her chair and jacket.  "How about a public washroom?  You learn a lot in those cubicles, you know."

            The jacket slipped through his fingers.  She deftly caught it before it hit the ground.  "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

            "I'm taking you home, Miyako-san.  You're drunk."

            "Apparently, not drunk enough," she said vivaciously.  "Or maybe you just don't want to take advantage of me in my slightly drunken state.  A pity.  If I'd known sooner I would have stayed sober for you."

            Ken made no reply, but held her arm firmly and led her through the restaurant and the parking lot.  She stumbled behind him, heels clicking noisily on the pavement.  He fumbled with his keys for a moment before managing to grasp the electric control.  He gently settled her into the car before seating himself in the driver's seat.  He barely closed the door before she pounced on him, lips pressed against his with bruising force, fingers rubbing him forcefully through his trousers.  He gasped when he was finally able to tear his head away from hers.  His fingers clamped onto her arm, and she wheezed with pain, but he was unable to do anything else.

            "Enough, Miyako," he said quietly, but forcefully, and released her.  She retreated and slumped into her seat, defeated.  Her head hung forward, her hair partially shielding her face from him.  Gently, he brushed away a few strands of hair and tucked it behind her ear.

            Her cheeks glistened with tears.  Not knowing what else to do, he started the car and drove her back to her apartment.

            He saw her up.  He was always thoughtful like that.

            During the long ride home, she had said nothing, done nothing.  She'd blanked out her mind, letting the numbness of the alcohol burn through her.  She needed water, desperately.

            Home was a place in the heart.  She'd misplaced hers years ago.

            "Would you like to come in?" she asked quietly.  She smiled wanly at him.  "I promise I won't take advantage of you.  Tonight."

            He hesitated for a brief moment, and nodded.  Relieved, she led him in, flicking on the lights as she did.  Hikari-chan always did that for them, but then Hikari-chan wasn't here anymore was she?  Miyako blinked slightly and mentally shook herself.  It had to be the alcohol.

            "Would you like some water?  Tea?"

            He shook his head, threads of cerulean drooping over his eyes.  "No thanks, I'm fine."

            She directed him towards the living room and went to get herself a glass of water.  She winced slightly at the headache building up in her temples; Sora would have scolded her before handing her a pair of aspirin.

            "I'm sorry," she said when she returned.

            "Sorry for what?" he queried, eyes quizzical.

            She took a deep breath.  Mimi would never apologize, but then, Mimi wasn't here and she wasn't always right about men.  "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

            He stilled.  "It's not your fault, Miyako-san.  I agreed to it."

            "Like hell it is," she snapped.  "I took advantage of you, Ken.  I forced you into it, and you can't tell me that yo—"

            He stopped her words with a searing kiss, utterly unlike him.  "Does that answer your question?" he asked archly.

            She did something completely unexpected then, something that not even she could have anticipated.  Spontaneity had always been an inherent part of Miyako's nature, but never so much that she could have predicted this.

            She laughed.

            She wasn't laughing at his kiss, nor did her amusement have anything to do with him.  She was laughing because she had to, and because something inside of her demanded it.

            "Miyako-san?" he asked tentatively.

            She buried her face into her hands, shoulders shaking with some unnamed emotion, and so, when her laughter became tears, and tears became sobs, he wouldn't be able to tell.

            "Miyako-san?" he called again, this time worriedly.  "Miyako-san, are you all right?"

            "Yes," she sobbed.  She heard him sigh and felt his fingers pry her hands away from her face.  He tipped her chin so that he could meet her eyes.

            "Are you crying, Miyako-san?"

            "No," she lied before throwing her arms around him and sobbing wholeheartedly on his shoulder.  He held her while she cried, unable to understand.

            "Do you want anything?" he asked awkwardly when her tears had ceased.  She shook her head, before settling it back onto his shoulder.

            "Just hold me."

            And he did.  

She was dreaming.

            It was so dark around her.  She shivered, clutching at the thin fabric of her dress.  She was so cold, so lonely.

            "Miyako-san!" a voice cried.  Her heart leapt.

            "Hawkmon?  Where are you?" she called, but no sound came from her.  She was twelve again.  

            "Miyako-san!  Where are you?" he called.  She started running towards the voice, running as fast as she had ever run in her life.  The wind whipped through her hair, pushed against the frames of her glasses.  She ran, ignoring the pain in her feet, ignoring everything.

            "Hawkmon!" she screamed, but her voice seemed to have disappeared in the dreamscape.  She stumbled on an unseen rock, and fell.  Her chest heaved, and she bent her head forward, tears leaking out of her eyes.

            "Miyako-san, answer me!" he was saying, crying.  She could hear the fluttering of his wings, and she sobbed.

            "Please," she whispered to herself, and then again.  "Please."

            Her heart ached.

            "Miyako-san?" someone said above her.  The voice was distinctly feminine, and once again, familiar.  Miyako's eyes widened and her head snapped up to face the speaker.

            "Hikari…chan?" 

            "Let's go, Miyako-san," said Hikari, and she held a hand out to her Jogress partner.  Miyako took it trustingly.  Nothing could impersonate Hikari-chan's aura.  Hikari's hand was warm, solid.  She nearly wept with relief.

            They were in the Digital World.  It was a perfect summer day, and there was nothing that she could do.

            "Hikari-chan, what are you doing here?" she queried.  Hikari regarded her with sadly.

            "I'm here to illuminate.  Come on, the others are waiting.  Don't let go of my hands.  I won't be able to bring you back," she warned.

            "Others?  What others?"

            Hikari didn't reply, and Miyako gave up after a while.  She felt another hand slip into her free one, and she jolted.

            "Don't worry," Takeru said on the other side.  "I'm here as well.  We won't let you go."

            "What's going ON?" she asked, frustrated.

            "I'm here to guide you," he replied softly.

            "Guide me?  Guide me through what?"  Her voice echoed through the computer room.

            "Miyako-kun!  Take a look at this program, will you?" Izumi-senpai said, gesturing towards the screen.  Automatically, she bent over, glasses slipping down her nose precariously.  Almost hesitantly, he pushed it back up and she smiled warmly at him in thanks.

            "Senpai, what is this?" she asked, gesturing with her head.  "I can't make heads or tails of it."

            "Neither could we," Koushirou replied sadly.  "We were hoping that you'd understand."

            "What is it?"

            He paused.  "It's you."

            "WHAT?" she screeched.  "What is that supposed to mean?"

            "What is what supposed to mean, Miyako-san?" Iori queried.  Miyako spun, hands still attached to Hikari and Takeru.  They were her lifelines.  Light to illuminate, Hope to guide.

            They were now in Iori's apartment.  She was bent over his computer, as she had done many times before.  

            "What's that program?" she asked, jerking her head towards it.  Iori glanced quizzically at her, but checked the monitor obediently.

            "I don't see anything."

            "But it's right _there, _Iori.  How can you not see it?"

            "I only see you," he replied quietly.

            "How come I can't see it?" she wailed, unable to understand.  Mimi leaned over her shoulder.

            "I don't get it either!" she piped.  Miyako's head whipped around so quickly that she almost saw the dreamscape and Iori blur and change to show New York in all of its cosmopolitan glory.

            "Mimi-chan!" she squealed.  Mimi threw her arms around the younger girl.  Hikari and Takeru were silent still, hands clutching hers tightly.

            "Miyako-chan, where have you been?" she scolded.  "I was going to show you my latest boyfriend, and you disappeared!"

            "Whose your latest boyfriend?"

            "Never mind, we have so much to catch up on!"  She conjured an album from air.  "Look at this picture!  Remember when we took it?"

            Miyako looked.  "Mimi-chan, there's nothing in it."

            "Nonsense, you're in all of these pictures!  Here's the one where we went shopping, and then that's when you came and visited New York and we took SO many fun pictures!  Remember?"

            "Mimi-chan, I don't see anything," she confessed.

            Mimi frowned.  "You're here, Miyako-chan.  Honest, Miyako-chan.  Can't you see?  You look so happy in this picture with Ken-kun and Daisuke-kun."

            "What are we doing?" Miyako asked slowly.

            "You're being you," Mimi said softly.

            "Mimi, be nice," a voice chided from the doorway.  "You're scaring Miyako-san."

            Miyako spun on the heel of her foot, dragging Hikari and Takeru in a semi circle.  "Jyou-san?"

            He smiled at her.  "It's nice to see you again, Miyako-kun.  Would you like a seat?" he gestured towards the park bench.

            She sank into it slowly, aware of Hikari and Takeru beside her.

            "Are you confused, Miyako-kun? Is there anything you want to talk about?"  
            "Everything!" she burst.  "I don't understand _any _of this!"

            He gazed at her, eyes enigmatic through his glasses.  "You will."

            "That doesn't tell me anything, Jyou-san!"

            His eyes softened.  "You will, Miyako-kun.  Hawkmon won't let you do otherwise."

            "Don't you get it?  Hawkmon's not HERE!  He's DEAD!  He died nine years ago!" she burst, bowing her head.

            "I don't know about that, but Koushirou would tell you that Digimon don't die, Miyako-san.  They're only bits of data."

            "Then why was there so much blood?" she whispered.

            "Would you like to hear a song?" Yamato asked awkwardly.  Wearily, she looked up at the blonde.  He was idly tuning a guitar on the empty stage.  The auditorium resounded with his question.

            "Why not?  It makes as much sense as anything else," she answered dully.

            He shot her a sardonic glance.  "My songs aren't nonsensical," he retorted.  

            "No, but this dream is," she muttered under her breath, but quieted when he began strumming his guitar.

            "I can't hear anything, Yamato-san," she complained after a few moments.

            He glanced at her quizzically.  "What do you mean?"

            "I can't hear what you're playing.  All that comes out is…nothing."

            He glanced at the music, and frowned.  "I'm not sure why that is.  Do you want to take a look at the music?" he queried, handing a few sheets of music to Takeru, who held it up for Miyako to see.

            The sheet was blank.

            "There's nothing on here.  What is this supposed to be?" she said, confused.  Yamato smiled at her sadly.      

            "You."

            A door opened behind Miyako, its hinges creaking slightly.  "Yamato, stop being cryptic," Sora scolded gently.  Her hands smoothed Miyako's hair, and she leaned into the familiar touch.  The familiar scent of the flower shop surrounded her, and she didn't have to ask where she was.

            "Sora…chan?" she asked, her voice thin.

            "It's me, Miyako-chan.  How have you been lately?"

            "Lost," she said thinly.  "Confused."

            "Ahh," she said knowingly.  Her fingers continued to brush through Miyako's hair.  "Miyako-chan, you know we love you don't you?  Hawkmon most of all."

            "But Hawkmon isn't here anymore," sobbed Miyako.  Sora stopped her ministrations for a moment, and Miyako heard her sigh.

            "Miyako, he's still in your heart, and if you just listened, I'm sure he'd tell you that he loves you very much."

            "But Sora-chan, the dead don't speak."

            "They do if you let them."  Sora paused for a moment.  "We love you, Miyako-chan."

            The door chimed the coming of another Chosen.  "Sora, if you get any more mushy, I'm going to choke," Taichi announced cheerfully, bouncing a ball expertly on his knees.  "Want to play, Miyako-san?"  He gestured to the grassy area around them.  "We have lots of room."

            "No thanks."

            "Come on, try it.  You might even beat me," he said, and smirked.  "It's always fun to try something new."

            "Kicking a ball around is not what I would call fun, Taichi-san," Miyako said drily.

            "Try it.  You never know until you try something new how much you'll like it.  Unless you're frightened," he teased.  Her fingers gripped the warmth of Hikari and Takeru.

            "Never!" she declared.  "But I just don't see the appeal of kicking a ball around."

            He smirked.  "You never know until you try."  He kicked the ball in her direction, and instinctively, she kicked back.  It soared over his head, and he had to leap to catch it.  "Nice kick," he said admiringly, and whistled.  "You see?  You never know until you have the courage to try."

            "Oi!  Kick the ball over here!" called Daisuke!  Taichi nodded, and without further ado, kicked towards Daisuke, who caught it deftly with his feet.  He dribbled it in slow circles around Miyako, laughing at her ire.

            "Catch me if you can, Miyako!" he called, racing around her in blinding circles.

            "Daisuke!" she screeched.  "Stop it!  You know I'm not going to run after you."

            "You can if you believe, Miyako!  Don't give up on yourself!"

            "But I already have!" she screeched.  "I give up!"

            He stopped his motions suddenly, head bowed.  Tears dripped freely from his eyes as he sobbed.

            "That," he gasped, "has to be the saddest thing I've ever heard."  His head shot up, and he advanced on her, hands on her shoulders, and he shook her roughly.

            "Never give up, Miyako.  _Live._"

            "I AM living, Daisuke.  What are you talking about?"

            "No you're not, Miyako-san," Ken said sadly, hands still gripping her shoulders.  His eyes bore into her with an intensity that frightened her.  "You're not living."

            "Then what am I?  Dead?"

            "You're no longer you.  You're a shadow," he said kindly.  She flinched, as if he had slapped her.

            "Ken-kun, what are you talking about?" she whispered.  "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" she screamed.  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

            "Miyako-san!" cried Takeru and Hikari, clinging to her hand tightly.  She whipped her head to face them, eyes raw with emotion.

            "What am I doing here?" she whispered.  "WHAT IS ALL OF THIS?"  She wrenched her hands free of their grasp, and ran into the liquid, shivering darkness.

            "Hawkmon!" she cried, her feet wandering, lost.  "HAWKMON!"

            "Miyako-san, wake up!" 

             Miyako opened her eyes to see the face of a very concerned and adult Ken.  She turned and sobbed wholeheartedly into a pillow, crying as if her heart would break, had broken, ignoring the physical pain in her head.

            She felt the bed shift as he settled himself beside her.  Hesitantly, then with more surety, his hands stroked her hair.  He made soothing noises, murmuring unintelligibly.  For the second time that night, she flung herself into his arms.  He rocked her as one would rock a child.  

            She soon exhausted her tears.  She felt Ken slip away from her quietly, and she nearly ached for the warmth that he had given her, but he soon returned with a cold cloth, a glass of water and aspirin.  She leaned against him almost instinctively.

            "Here," he said, dabbing her eyes gently.  "I figured you could use this."

            She smiled gratefully at him before downing the aspirin and water.  She sipped at the glass while he gently wiped away all traces of her tears and sweat.

            "How did I get here?" she asked hoarsely.  He flushed a bit.

            "I carried you in here.  You fell asleep."

            "And you didn't leave?"

            He hesitated.  It surprised her that she had such power over him, and she felt a strange sort of sadness seep into her.  "I didn't want to leave you alone."

            She nearly broke down again at the evidence of such kindness, but she managed to bravely hold back her tears, sniffling bravely.

            "I'm sorry.  I don't know what's gotten into me," she said when he concernedly wiped at her eyes again.  He shook his head, taking the glass of water from her briefly to spill some more onto the warm cloth.

            "It's fine.  You don't have to apologize," he replied, brushing a tendril of hair away from her swollen eyes.  "I understand."

            "Do you?"

            He looked away from her for a moment to place the glass carefully on her bedside table.  "No, I suppose I don't."

            Her fingers played with the buttons of his shirt.  He'd taken his jacket off, she noticed idly, and loosened his tie as well.

            "Do you know," she said, her voice breaking, "how much I wish I had never gone that night?  And that I'd brought my Digimental with me?  If I had then maybe…" her voice trailed off wistfully.

            "Stop thinking like that!" he said harshly, then softened his tone.  "It wasn't anyone's fault, Miyako, except maybe Hiroshi's.  And even then, he got more than he deserved."

            "What did happen to him?" she asked curiously after a lengthy silence.  "I never found out."

            "He was blinded.  They took him away, but your family never pressed charges against him, so they released him after a while, but it didn't really matter.  He killed himself a few months after you disappeared," Ken replied quietly.

            "You shouldn't have told me," she said finally.  He tucked her head under his chin, his hand idly smoothing her hair once again.

            "I'm sorry."

            "No, it's all right.  I shouldn't have asked."

            They were silent for a few more moments.  She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, enjoying the steady rhythm.  It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to feel this relaxed.  It was almost as if the past had never happened, and even now, she could still hear the flutter of Hawkmon's wings, the soft whisper of his feathers as he bustled around in the next room.  She could lose herself in this.

            "Ken-kun?" she queried tentatively.

            "Hmm?"

            "I'm sorry for what I said in the restaurant.  That was over the line, even for me."

            She felt him sigh.  "I thought I told you that it was okay, Miyako-san."

            "But it's not!" she burst out, pulling herself up to face him.  "I shouldn't have said any of those things."

            He hesitated.  Then, "Did you mean it?"

            She stared at him blankly.  "What?"

            "Did you mean what you said, Miyako-san?"

            "Yes…no.  I don't know, Ken-kun," she said, her voice fading uncertainly.  "I just knew that you had something special with Daisuke."

            His hands resumed its steady progress, falling softly onto her silken hair.  "He'll always be the person that I love best, and I his.  But we agreed that things should never go farther than that."

            Startled, Miyako pulled away from him again.  "What do you mean, Ken-kun?"

            "We both wanted different things," he said softly.  "He wanted his own life and I wanted mine.  I wanted my own family, and Daisuke could never give that to me, even if he tried.  He had the noodle cart, which meant that he'd have to travel a lot, and my job demands a lot of time away from home as well.  So we both decided to stay as friends."  He stopped to adjust himself comfortably on the bed and to pull her back into his arms absentmindedly.  "I guess you could say that there's an agreement between us."  His right arm was curled protectively around her while his left hand played idly with her hair.  "You know," he said wonderingly, "I've never told anyone this before."

              "That's because you never talked to the right person before," Miyako said, somewhat smugly.  "And because it's me."

            "Modest aren't we?" he said, chuckling.  She smiled winsomely at him.

            "It's never modesty when it's truth, Ken-kun."

            He laughed, chest heaving and eyes gleaming with mirth.  She relaxed, enjoying the feel of his laughter against her skin.  It felt so _natural, _this sort of closeness.  She had never felt like this before, not even with Nicholas.

            Nicholas had died two years ago.  She'd been running for nine.

            There was a stretch of comfortable silence between them then.  She closed her eyes and did nothing but listen to the sound of his heartbeat and breathing.  Her mind drifted towards the past and into the events that would eventually shape her life.

            "_What are you doing here?" Inoue Keiko demanded, leaning against the doorframe, lit cigarette in hand.  Her impossibly black hair stood out against the cosmetic pallor of her skin and the numerous piercings in her face._

_            "I…" Miyako's voice faltered.  "I ran away from home."_

_            Keiko raised an elegantly drawn brow, silver piercing glinting in the dim light of the hallway.  "Oh?  And you want to live here?"_

_            "Only for a little while.  I can pay you!" pleaded Miyako.  Keiko paused, bringing the cigarette to her lips absentmindedly almost._

_            "How did you find me?"_

_            Miyako bit her lower lip.  She'd heard her cousin working inconspicuously in an alleyway a few months ago and had Poromon follow her home.  She quickly pushed away the thought.  "I've always known you lived here."_

_            "Oh?  And you've never told my family?" Keiko asked suspiciously.  Miyako shook her head quickly, shorn lavender hair falling across her face.  She had cut it before she left, hoping that perhaps it would snip away at her past as well._

_            "You seemed happy here," she replied softly.  "I couldn't take that away from you.  Especially…"_

_            "Since my father was a prick and my goody-two-shoes siblings could care less about their fucked up sister?" Keiko finished ironically.  She finished the cigarette quickly and stubbed it out on the doorframe before throwing it down the hallway.  _

_            "Why me?  You could have just gone somewhere else just as easily," she queried.  Miyako closed her eyes._

_            "Because I knew you wouldn't ask questions," the girl replied softly.  "And because we both have our own secrets."_

_            Keiko nodded abruptly.  "Come in."_

            She stayed there for a few months, unused to the idea of unlimited freedom, but at the same time, relishing it.  Her cousin kept odd hours, and Miyako never asked how she paid her rent.  There were some things that she didn't have to know.

            She quickly secured a job as a waitress in a small restaurant.  It required her to commute from home to work every day, but she didn't mind.  It gave her time to be alone and mindless, which is precisely what she wanted.  She had changed irrevocably, she realized.  She used to despise solitude, was always around people.  Perhaps it had to do with the close-knit bonds she had with her family, perhaps it had to do that she had been a part of the elite Chosen, but whatever it was, it didn't seem to hold true anymore.  A social butterfly, one might have called her, but she wasn't anymore.  She was also less easily shocked by things, more apathetic to the world around her.  She didn't know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, but she never cared enough to work it out.

            Something brushed against her leg, and she jumped, looking around suspiciously, but then dismissed it as her imagination.  However, when she stood up to get off her stop, she was positive that she didn't imagine the hand squeezing her butt.  She spun around quickly, her hand reflexively catching the arm of a strange man.

            He had light brown hair and blue eyes.  His face was also normal; so normal that she would never have noticed him had he not just groped her indecently.  He grinned nonchalantly at her.

            "Would you like to fuck?" he queried.  She hesitated for a moment, surprised that she even had to pause to think about this.  The old Miyako would've slapped him immediately, but then, she wasn't the old Miyako.  The old Miyako had died four months ago.

            "Okay," she replied quietly.  His grin widened.

            "Follow me," he ordered.  He led her through the throngs of people into a secluded area and brought her up to a nondescript apartment.

            "Close the door," he said carelessly.  She had barely shut it when he pressed himself against her, his mouth opening hers forcibly, hips pushing against hers with brutal weight.  She could feel his hard-on through her skirt. The door groaned under their combined weight, and she had been afraid that it would break.  She made a sound of protest when he stopped the kiss and slid downwards, lower and lower until he was on his knees, his hands already pulling away at her undergarments.  He dove under her skirt and she stood there.  She whimpered incoherently, her fingers tangled in his hair.  She came within moments, shuddering as an intense orgasm overtook her.  The lust in his eyes was so evident that she felt her own ardour rise to meet his.

            "Again," he said hoarsely, dragging her into the apartment.  They didn't even make it as far as the couch.  They ended up on the floor, staining the carpet with their lust as he drove himself into her with quick, brutal strokes, mouth silencing her virgin screams.  He used her so roughly that she hadn't been able to walk properly for days.  When she could finally move again, he demanded that she give him a blowjob.  She complied willingly, eagerly even.  This stranger from the subway had opened her eyes to a new escape, and she'd be damned if she didn't take it.

            She moved in with him the next day.  Keiko had smirked when she came home to gather her few belongings.  "My little cousin's all grown up and lost her virginity," she cooed.

            "I grew up a long time ago," retorted Miyako as she shoved clothing into her bag.  She zipped it up expertly.  "There's still some leftover stew in the fridge," she said quietly.  "And I left this month's rent on the kitchen table."

            Keiko hesitated for a moment.  "Wait here," she said.  She returned shortly with a business card and a box of condoms.

            "I have a feeling you'll be needing these," she stated, somewhat wryly.  Miyako glanced at the card quickly.  It was for a doctor.  "Just mention the name "Aya" and he'll give you pills for free.  Don't hesitate to come back if you don't have anywhere else to go," said Keiko and then hugged her impulsively.  "You've been a good roommate."

            Miyako returned it, but she was the first to pull away.  She slung her bag over her shoulder.  "Good bye Keiko.  Keep in touch."

            It was the last time she ever saw her cousin.

            Thus began a long line of lovers, each with varying degrees of success in terms of relationships.  Some men had even proposed to her, but after the first few, she learned enough to leave them before things got too serious.  Some of them were even women, but that was because she enjoyed experimentation, and even now, some of them remained as friends.  Miyako never worried about STDs.  Ever since she had become a Chosen, she had stopped contracting any illnesses of some sort.  Izumi-senpai had always mused that the gates had probably activated some sort of antibodies that were unique only to them and their digimon.  Hikari-chan had been the only exception, and that was because the first group of Chosen made it into the Digital World with their Digivices rather than utilizing the gates.  She believed staunchly in monogamy and made sure to give notice to her current partner before moving on towards her next conquest.

            Then she met Nicholas, and a little piece of the world suddenly made more sense.

            She was dining with her current lover in an expensive restaurant with a few of his friends.  One of them had been Nicholas.  He was British, but he spoke very good Japanese.  He was doing some business in Japan, he said somewhat shyly.  

            When Touma had introduced them, she'd felt an electric shock go down her spine as she met his eyes.  A similar expression of surprise showed on his face, so she knew that it was not just her.

            Within moments of meeting him, she knew she had to have him.

            They barely took their eyes off of one another the entire night.  Unable to stand the tension between them, she announced that that she had a slight headache.  Catching his cue quickly, Nicholas offered to drive her home.  Touma had laughed and waved them on their way.  Touma, she realized now, had probably known what was happening.  After all, she had been living with him for close to seven months now.

            Nicholas drove her to his hotel.  There was no time for pretence anymore.

            Their lovemaking had been absolutely incredible.  He was gentle and patient, and made sure that she was satisfied before he took in his own pleasure.  She had loved that about him.

            The next day, they were on a plane to London, where he lived.  They married in a quiet ceremony, and she lived in happiness for the next two years of her life.

            He owned his own business.  She told him that she was an orphan and couldn't remember anything about her own past.  He accepted this without comment.

            And then one day, she'd received a phone call from Nicholas' secretary.  He'd had a heart attack, and was being rushed to the hospital, she said frantically.  Miyako knew with her innate instinct that Nicholas wasn't returning.

            For some reason, his death never seemed real to her.  It was always as if he was going to return.  Unable to bear it, Miyako sold his business quietly, packed up her belongings and left for Tokyo.

            Miyako sighed.  She still missed Nicholas, even after all of these years.  She never could say that she truly loved him, but she held a great deal of affection for him. She still did.  She still talked infrequently with his mother, who adored her Japanese daughter-in-law.  After Nicholas, she lived alone, and found a job with Squaresoft.  While not artistic, she had a certain eye for beauty that made her invaluable to them.  Besides, she thought wryly, she, of all people, who know what was best for "fangirl service."

            She glanced up at Ken and was not surprised to find him sound asleep.  He was beautiful in the lamplight, and she felt something inside of her flutter.

            It wasn't a conscious decision on her part as to what happened next.  Nor did she ever try to second-guess the instinct that had taken over her at that moment, but sometimes, she later decided, Fate steps in to give things a nudge in the right direction.

            She levered herself up on her elbow and carefully brushed her lips against his once, twice.  His eyes fluttered open.  She kissed him again, pressing her lips against his with almost virginal gentleness.  He deepened the kiss deliberately.  Heat rushed through her veins.

            They made love then.  The tenderness of it was such a contrast to the night before that she couldn't help but compare them.  Both of them were equally satisfying in their own way, she decided before she gave in to the demands of her body.

            And sometimes, she realized in the aftermath, one could always pretend that they could afford something like this.

            The next few weeks were a blissful haze.  Miyako had even overheard her secretary speculating over the new boyfriend or lover that she had acquired.  Ken called her at least once a day while at work to check in on her.

            He was like an ointment for her scars.  He never pushed her to talk, nor did he ever force her to do anything that she didn't want.  He was a perfect gentleman, always opening doors and pulling out chairs for her.

            It wasn't that she was in _love _with him, she mused.  Or, she corrected, she didn't think she was.  She'd always counted herself lucky to have had Nicholas, even if it was for such a short amount of time, and Lady Luck knew that she didn't swing that way.  Rather, the relationship between her and Ken was so tentative and fragile that it seemed nearly evanescent.

            She wasn't dreaming of him, nor was he on her thoughts all the time.  However, the mere sound of his voice or the sight of him could send blood rushing through her to the point where she'd _have _to have him at that very moment.  She certainly _needed _him, but that was nothing new to her.  Miyako had always wanted Ichijouji Ken.  She'd just never realized the extent of her need.  And the sex was always great.  He was a very different person in bed, she thought to herself as she smiled almost cattily.  Shaking her head slightly, she drank her water.  She'd been suffering from mild nausea lately, but that was nothing that a bit of water or tea couldn't help.  She wondered what Wormmon thought of his partner spending his nights with her, and realized with a sharp pang of shock that the thought of the insect Digimon didn't send sorrow ringing through her anymore.  Instead, it was like a cool wind sending ripples through a pond of water.  The sorrow was still there, but nowhere near as new or as cutting as it had been for the past nine years.

            She finished her glass quickly and sighed.  She was still thirsty.  Grumbling to herself, she got up, blinking briefly when a wave of dizziness shook her.  Probably the lack of sleep and breakfast, she dismissed.

            She walked to the outer office to refill her cup, slightly annoyed by her shaky legs.  This was ridiculous; she'd gone three days with less food than this before, and she'd been perfectly fine.

            She filled her cup and drained it in three gulps.  Making a face, she refilled it again.

            "Stewart-san, are you okay?" her secretary queried.  Miyako nodded.

            "I'm fine," she said steadily.  "Why?"

            "Oh, you just look a little pale.  That's all," Kimiko replied with a worried expression on her face.  "Maybe you should go home and rest."

            Miyako made to protest but when a severe wave of nausea struck her, she nodded slowly.  "I think I will.  Will you tell the boss that I wasn't feeling well?"

            Kimiko nodded hurriedly.  Miyako took a deep breath and walked into her office somewhat unsteadily.  She felt like she was hung over, but worse.

            She gathered her things slowly and walked out, her heels making her progress slower by half at the very least.

            "Stewart-san I—"

            She never heard the rest of Kimiko's words as the rest of the world faded into darkness.

            She awoke in a hospital, crinkling her nose at the smell of anaesthetic.  The scent made her queasy once again.  She groaned.

            "Good, you're awake," a voice said cheerfully from the other side of the curtain.  An efficient and brusque hand brushed it aside.  "I'll call the doctor now."

            He came in a few moments, a clipboard in one hand and a stethoscope slung across his neck.  Miyako stared at him crossly for a few moments as he checked his papers and muttered unintelligibly to himself.

            "Oh yes, Stewart-san.  How are you feeling?" he asked brightly.

            "Like hell," she replied succinctly.  He nodded.

            "That's normal for a woman in your condition.  You have to make sure to get lots of rest and food.  You're eating for two now."

            Miyako blinked.  "WHAT?" she nearly screeched.  The doctor looked at her quizzically.

            "Stewart-san," he said gently, "you're pregnant."

Notes:

*runs*  XD

Wheee, I had fun writing this part.  The outline went to hell after this, but anyways, whatever.  XD  I blame this spout of productivity wholeheartedly on Flamebyrd.  I'd apologize for the atrocious prose and grammar (not to mention the smut), but after sixteen fucking pages, I'm too tired to apologize.  XD  And no, Miyako-kun and I don't want to hear protestations of "stamina."

This section is for Ling.  Happy belated birthday dear.  *hugs*  You're one of the best people I know, and you deserve more than just this.

I thought the crack about Miyako working for Squaresoft would be heeeelarious.  It still is.  I couldn't help the "fangrrrl service" joke.  Look at Squall and Tidus.  Capish?  XD

Up Next: Ken is dragged through hell and back again from Daisuke and Mimi while Miyako discovers something that she thought she had once lost.  Loose ends are tied up and we finally meet up with the other Chosen and see their antics with strawberry mousse.  (No, I have no title for it yet.  Just wait.  XD)  Expect it during the duration of the next…uh…never mind.


End file.
